Minor Catastrophes
by TeamGwenee
Summary: Edith was always more of a clothes horse, than a horse rider. Bertie is willing to indulge her.


"Are you sure it's safe?" Edith asked uncertainly, watching as a delightedly squealing Marigold was slowly lead around on the back of the old shire horse.

The horse was a handsome, gentle creature, with black and white patches and the sweetest eyes. She plodded along behind stable hand, whilst Bertie followed alongside Marigold, ready to catch her. It would have taken a catastrophe of the greatest kind to cause Marigold to fall and be hurt, but Edith had learnt not to rely on her good luck by now.

She was all to well acquainted with catastrophes.

"She'll be fine," Bertie assured her, his smile as gentle as Buttercup the horse.

Even after a year, Edith could still feel her heart well up each time Bertie smiled at her like that. Her dear husband. How he must suffer from her constant worries and concerns. And yet he had never been impatient with her. Never snappish or irritable. Instead he gently encouraged her on what she still remained tentative, and applauded her with every risk she took. He was her dearest friend, her greatest ally and her most trusted confidante.

With a whoop, Bertie lifted Marigold from Buttercup's back and onto his own shoulders, galloping forward as Marigold yee-hawed like a cowboy she had seen in the pictures. She giggled as Bertie carefully placed her on the ground.

"Now it's mummy's turn!" she cried, clapping her little hands in glee.

Before Edith could protest, Bertie had gallantly lifted her into his arms and placed her onto Buttercup's back. Edith was never the most confident rider, having always been convinced that they would take an instant dislike to her and throw her from their back. But instead, Buttercup remained placid beneath her.

Even though she was wearing a pretty day dress and coat, instead of jodhpurs and boots, Edith found herself settling down. Especially when Bertie took the leading rope. With Marigold cheering her on and Bertie smiling up at her, that soft look in his eyes, Edith allowed herself to relax on Buttercup's back.

Then, of course, catastrophe struck.

Having let her guard down whilst on Buttercup's back, the disaster occurred on dismounting. Bertie slipped on a pile of horse manure and, with Edith in his arms, collapsed to the floor.

Edith froze momentarily in horror, before sitting up and looking over Bertie frantically.

"Are you alright?" she demanded, "Does anything hurt, can you feel your toes?"

Bertie laughed softly. He reached with his arm; which had somehow managed to remain attached and unbroken, and stroked a stray lock of golden curly hair back.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he assured her.

Edith sighed and shook her head. "I know, I'm sorry. I just..."

"Worry?" Bertie finished for her.

Edith's cheeks flushed and her eyes darted away. "Can you blame me?" she retorted.

Bertie sighed. He loathed to think of the sufferings Edith had gone through, of all the pain she had endured without having someone by her side. Seeking to cheer her up, Bertie brushed the dust and dirt from Edith's shoulder.

"The only thing you have to worry about now," he assured her, "Is the state your clothes are in,"

Edith looked down at her dainty frock and grimaced. "I don't think that's coming out," she sighed, "Not without damaging the fabric,"

"Not to worry," Bertie declared jauntily, "I shall simply have to buy you a whole wardrobe of new clothes when we go up to London next,"

Edith paused, considering his offer. A smile twitched at her lips as she thought of her favourite boutiques and design houses. After a lifetime of never feeling comfortable in her skin and hating herself in everything she wore, that she could now find clothes that made her look good and feel good; glamorous and modern, was a delight that never grew old. Clothes were perhaps her greatest indulgence.

She began picturing the type of things she might buy. A silk evening gown of turquoise and silver embroidery, light and shimmering round her knees, the colour of the sea. Another evening gown of floor length cobalt blue to match her sapphire tiara, with a halter neck. She'd have a russet coat and matching hat, with a butterfly motif, and another day frock of coral pink cotton with ruffles.

Of course, even if she could not find any clothes to these exact specifications, she would find something similar. Or else make a completely new discovery that she would inevitably end up falling in love with.

And if she found nothing she liked, there were greater tragedies.


End file.
